Eltham Kensington Lestrade Holmes
by Love is a Mayer
Summary: Husbands, Mycroft and Greg adopt a little boy. It's a big life decision but one they're very sure about. Just a lot of one shots of their life together.
1. Prologue

**_I plan on making this about 80 to 100 chapters long of a bunch of random one shots of Mycroft's family. If you have any suggestions for some prompts just drop them by in a review or message. Anyways, enjoy and don't forget to review^-^_**

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Not Sherlock nor John, nor anybody in London for that matter, could have ever guessed the marriage of Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade. It was just a thought that had never crossed their minds because of the vast difference between the two. Mycroft's idea of a nice night was drinking champagne and reading a novel; Greg on the other hand, loved to lounge around with a beer while indulging in crap TV. Though, somehow, even through their many differences, both always found time to make their relationship work; and it was that very love that got them thinking about adopting a child.

The two men were curled up by a large bedroom window, their arms wrapped around each other as they drank from a bottle of champagne. Greg sat nuzzled in Mycroft's neck, eyelids half closed with sleep as Mycroft stroked his silver hair.

"Gregory," Mycroft said quietly.

"Hmm," the older man grumbled.

Mycroft didn't say anything for a moment as he stared ahead. "I was wondering…" he began slowly.

Greg lifted his head up off of Mycroft's shoulder, staring up at the man in disbelief. "What is it, love?"

The government official closed his eyes for a moment. "What if we adopted?"

That had got Greg's attention. With a look that contorted the DI'S lovely features, the older man sputtered. "As in…adopt a kid? Permanently," he asked in a high voice.

Mycroft felt like hiding in a hole for the rest of his life for the stupid idea. "I just thought-"He swallowed hard. "It seemed like a good idea yesterday."

The silence in the room afterwards felt like a lead weight on Mycroft's shoulder, threatening to knock the man over if he so much as breathed. Neither of them, however, said anything in it because both were wrapped up in their own thoughts of children and a new life.

"Are you sure," Greg whispered, breaking it after a long while of thinking. "It's going to be bloody hard for you at work, not seeing the kid."

"I've never been more sure about anything in my entire life, Gregory. At first, I told myself it wasn't going to work out and it'd just make us more stressed. But then I began to be honest with myself and what I wanted all along, and it wasn't just you. I love you and it made me realize that we need a child, someone to carry on our memories when we die. Someone that we can both love with all of our hearts and watch grow up under our care." He shrugged. "I know, idiotic."

"You realize, Mycroft, that ever since we got married a year ago, I've wanted to ask the same thing of you? I tried to summon the courage but chickened out whenever you looked at me." Greg buried his face in Mycroft's neck again. "I was afraid you'd dismiss the idea without a thought, like you always do."

"I don't…I can't imagine that I'd ever do that, Gregory…" Mycroft eased Greg's head up, staring him in the eye. "Is that a 'yes we'll adopt'?"

Another round of silence ensued, but this time, there wasn't anything to think about. It was already decided, had always been for the two.

"Of course, I'd love to have a kid with you, Mycroft Holmes," Greg whispered as his head fell, once again, onto Mycroft's shoulder, settling into one of their last moments alone. "I would be honored, in fact." Smiling sleepily, he murmured, "I love you."

"I love you too, Gregory Lestrade," Mycroft whispered, wondering if life could get any better.


	2. Chess

It was really hard to keep a nine year old occupied with a game when their mind was completely focused on something else; especially if that something else was their father who had been gone for a month already. His absence was taking its toll on Eltham, and nothing Lestrade could do would cheer the child up.

"Checkmate again, dad," the young boy muttered for about the thousandth time as he slid deeper into his seat.

He and Lestrade were currently seated at the chess table in the den of their mansion Mycroft bought before Eltham had been adopted. Lestrade presently pretended to ignore his son's depressed state as he rearranged the glass pieces again.

"Okay, you beat me once, but that was luck El. I guarantee you'll run crying after this round." Lestrade chuckled at his own joke, though the show wasn't for him.

Eltham frowned, "Come on, I'm not a little kid anymore, dad. I know what you're doing or at least I know what you're trying to keep me from doing."

"Well, your nine, El. That's still a kid in my eyes," Lestrade drawled with a small smirk.

Eltham stuck out his lower lip in a pout as he crossed both arms. "Come ON dad! I'm not joking around right now," El whined as he stomped his feet. "I miss him."

Lestrade sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his silver hair in frustration. Though, there was also a little bit of pride showing through for his son for being so hard headed. "I miss him too," Lestrade said after a while.

Eltham nodded solemnly as he got up, completely forgetting about the current game his dad had restarted. The boy's big blue eyes flickered towards the fire place for a second as he sat himself in Mycroft's favorite sofa, the one he had received as a present from the Queen two years ago.

The young boy was set on staying quiet the whole night to show that he was serious, and he would have too if Greg hadn't taken the open seat next to him. The DI playfully tickled the sides of his son's stomach, earning a little giggle in the process. "That's a mighty big chair for you to be sitting in all alone Mr. Lestrade Holmes."

The corner of Eltham's mouth twitched as he tried to repress a smile.

Greg leaned in n, hopeful that he at least could get some emotion from the boy. In his time with Mycroft, Eltham had picked up some quirks from the government official, like hiding his feelings and bottling it all up.

"He wouldn't want to see you like this, El. And it bloody sucks for me, too."

"I know, daddy."

"Then how about we cheer you up? Hmm?"

Lestrade smiled confidently as he picked his son up. "Can we watch The Cars movie?" Eltham finally asked as sleep descended upon him.

"Anything for you, shorty."

The pair made it through half a cup of popcorn, a whole two liter of pop and three quarters of the movie before Eltham finally gave in to his tiredness. It was dark in the living room, save for the occasional flash of light from the movie as Greg adjusted himself and the sleeping body on top of him. His hands ran through Eltham's curly chestnut hair as he too, finally fell asleep.


	3. Razor

"Eltham…" Mycroft muttered, glaring at the boy by way of the mirror. "Don't go near the razors."

His son frowned, "I think I'm capable of not getting cut by those things, father." He continued to poke the tools anyway.

"Eltham," Mycroft warned.

The government official ignored the eye roll as he tried to get behind his jawline with his expensive razor, where the hair liked to grow untamed. Shaving wasn't usually an impossible feat to accomplish with his dexterity, but today – for a reason that was way beyond him- Mycroft couldn't seem to hold the thing straight. The razor, in the end, produced a minor thin cut; one that was hopefully concealed by his jawline. He winced, inspecting it in the mirror while Eltham did the same on his blue stool.

"You okay?" The little boy asked, taking Mycroft's face in his pudgy little fists.

Mycroft's mouth quirked in surprise, eyes flicking back and forth as he tried to make sense of the feelings in his chest. "I'm…I'm fine," he said after a moment.

He always found himself at a loss for words when it came to Eltham. Most of the time he didn't need to worry about it, but when it came to expressing his feelings- Mycroft tended to always have a mental block. It was always something he left up to Greg because the man was better at it and always had been.

"Then why are you crying?" Eltham asked.

As if on cue, a silent tear slipped down Mycroft's cheek, surprising the man further. "I…I don't know…why, actually."

A few quiet minutes ticked by as father and son studied each other.

"It's alright to cry, father. I don't mind," Eltham finally whispered as he hesitantly wiped the tear away.

Mycroft was stunned into silence at the touch. They never spent a lot of time together because of his schedule, and that, in anyone's mind, wasn't good at all. It's what got Mycroft to thinking that Eltham hated his guts, but obviously, in that moment, the boy was far from that idea.

"Eltham, you know," Mycroft began in a whisper as he hugged his son, "that I love you and will always love you no matter what."

A small smile spread across his son's lips, and he nodded. "I know. And I love you too."

As Mycroft kissed Eltham's head and set him down on the ground, the door behind them swung open reveling a sleepy looking DI.

"Are you ready yet, guys?" He muttered, holding Eltham's school bag in the air. "The bus is going to be here, El. Might want to run down the stairs."

"Oh, right," Eltham smiled, shaking his head. "Bye dad, father. I'll see you later." The boy tore across the room as he descended the stairs just as the bus honked its horn.

"Well, that was a close one. Hey, have you been crying?"

"No, can't imagine why I would."

"Mycroft Holmes! Is that a real smile, too? What _has _been going on in here?


	4. Deduction

At nine years old, Eltham had learned a great deal of things. And with the help of Sherlock and John's son, Nesbit, it kind of aided towards his creative mind. In only two weeks of learning the art of deduction Eltham had helped Sherlock with finding a crucial clue, albeit for a very minor case, but one nonetheless. He was also able to help Mycroft with finding his missing satin tie; they both ended up falling into a rat's nest for the cause.

In his little mind, everything was a new puzzle waiting to be solved. Making his dad tick that morning was one of them as they ate breakfast alone.

"You don't shave when he's away," Eltham mumbled as he chomped away at his pancakes.

"Why would you think that?" Greg asked.

"The hair's darker."

Greg looked up quizzically from his bowl of cereal. "What do you mean, El?"

"The hair on your face is darker then it was a week ago, when father was here."

"Oh," Greg says. "I guess you're right about that."

"I know a lot more than that, too!" Eltham exclaimed with pride

"Care to explain?"

"Certainly, daddy." Eltham set his fork down as he leaned in. "What would you like to know?" He winked; the wicked glint so much like Mycroft's in a way.

Greg shivered in his seat at the sight. _That look, _he thought. _It's going to kill me one day. _"Well, first off, start by telling me who got you interested in deducing facts?"

"It was," Eltham said between bites, "Nesbit. He and uncle Sherlock taught me it when I stayed over last month."

_Bloody hell, I told Mycroft it was a bad idea,_ Greg thought sourly as he glanced at his son. "That's the last time you stay over there for two weeks, and if you're so keen on deducing my secrets, do you mind telling me what you've found?"

"You only sleep on father's chest the whole night when you've solved a fairly big case, you pretend to be sleeping when mummy calls because you're scared of her, you don't take your morning pills with coffee because of some weird accident that happened in your child hood; could be a friend's death but not likely. And I know for a fact that you chose that light blue shirt today because it's father's favorite, and don't bother telling me he's coming home today 'cuz I already know."

When Eltham finished up, Greg snorted so hard that his morning coffee almost shot flying out of his nose like one of those comedy shows. He set his mug back down on the table, coughing the entire time as he wiped his nostrils. "How could you possibly know all that?" Greg asked, taken aback.

"I'm smart for my age. Father says it's natural seeing as how he was the one that read to me." Eltham smiled, shrugging like it was nothing.

"That bloody wanker," Greg muttered quietly as he nibbled his toast.

"Sooooo, when's that model airplane getting here?" Eltham smiled.

"Hey! You read your father's emails?"

"I'm nine, dad. I'm not an idiot."

"It's password protected!"

"It wasn't that hard to guess. Not exactly four knocks."

"Have you heard of a thing called privacy? It's kind of useful around here," Greg said kind of sarcastically.

"Who needs it, daddy? Life would be boring if we all thought like you."

Greg sighed as he rubbed his face vigorously. "Bloody hell, you're more like Sherlock then I thought! That's it; no more sleep overs at Uncle John and Sherlock's."

After a while, Big Ben chimed in the distance, alerting the pair that they had to finish up if they didn't want to be late. As Greg collected their dishes and loaded them up in the dishwasher, Eltham hung around by his side with a thoughtful look on his little face.

"Is there something you'd like to get off your chest, El?"

Eltham curled and uncurled his fists as he rocked back and forth; another habit he picked up off of Mycroft. "He writes to an error person sometimes. The person never types back but I don't think he minds."

"Oh," Greg piped up, suddenly more interested. "And what does he say to this 'error' person?"

"Sometimes he just goes on about how the pain in his heart hurts too much, but when he… sees you, everything goes away. And then once, he kept typing, 'I love you, Gregory Lestrade, 'over and over again. What's wrong with him?"

"I have no idea," Greg smiled.


	5. Cousins

When it came to satisfying an overly achieving little nine year old and twelve year old kid, it took more than cookies and promises of football tickets if they stayed quiet upstairs for a little while. But it was all Mycroft and Sherlock had on the two boys as they discussed a major, and potentially dangerous, case downstairs.

"Your dad's cool," Nesbit murmured absentmindedly as he picked up a red crayon.

Eltham uncrossed his legs for a moment and rolled onto his back as he thought about what his cousin said. "Yeah, I guess. But your dad's way cooler, Nes! He's a consulting detective and gets to solve crimes without getting yelled at!"

"It's not as cool as you think, Eltham," the blonde boy said. "He does get yelled at, all the time, by both of your dad's. And the whole solving crimes thing isn't really fun."

"What do you mean?" Eltham asked.

"Well, dad always comes back mad after a case, he never gets to stay up late watching TV because of them, aaaaaand he doesn't get paid."

Eltham, with his mouth wide open, stared at his cousin in disbelief. "He doesn't get paid for being smart!?What a rip off."

"I know," Nesbit spit, coloring his picture with more ferocity. "But your dad is the British government! He gets to talk with the Queen whenever he wants and he's stinking rich!"

"Yeah," Eltham mumbled. "But he never gets to spend time with me."

Nesbit looked up from his coloring book to glance at his cousin. He set his crayon down and scooted closer to Eltham, "But your dad's a big government guy, so he needs to be away a lot. If it makes you feel any better, I never get to see my dad a lot either."

"But he's always home with you," Eltham sniffed.

"So? That doesn't mean he wants to always pay attention to me or daddy either. It's like he's not even there half the time."

"Then why does he always yell at my dad whenever we come over?"

"Their brothers," Nesbit shrugged. "It's in their blood or something; kind of like two magnets connecting to each other. They _have_ to fight no matter what."

Eltham thought about it for a moment "Oh, I get it! I saw this kind of thing in this robot movie me and my daddy watched last night! The two robots had to keep fighting or they would blow up and kill everyone."

Nesbit laughed at his younger cousin "That is so….true." The older boy's face turned snow white as he leaned in towards Eltham. "What if that _is_ true? Think about it, have you ever seen them not yelling at each other? If they both stop fighting they'll blow up!"

The blonde boy got off the ground and immediately ran to his dresser. "Here, catch this," Nesbit said, throwing the mysterious item at the younger boy.

"What-oomph- is it?"

"It's a baseball bat, duhh." Eltham's cousin mumbled. "For when they attack us."

"Attack us?" Eltham gulped.

"If they don't blow up, which we'll make sure of, then they might come at us with their robotic slicers and slice us apart!"

"Wait!" Eltham yelled, getting off the ground. "I can't hurt my dad, I love him."

"I love my dad too, but we have to save ourselves if they try to hurt us."

"But what if they don't? What if we scare them and they stop fighting and then blow up before they even attack us, Nesbit?"

The older boy fished a bat out for himself as he pointed towards his door. "Then we're going to have to make sure that we…"

"What? What is it?" Eltham whispered fiercely after a long moment of silence. The bat threatened to slip out of his sweaty palms as he awaited orders.

"Do you here that?" Nesbit whispered.

"No, I don't hear anything."

And then it hit them.

Eltham's face fell He stopped breathing, stopped moving. "They're not fighting!"

Both boy's looked at each other and then at the door. With one last knuckle bump, they opened the door and ran down the stairs, screaming at the top of their lungs.

"Father! Don't do it! Keep fighting!"

"…Hey, what's… wrong?" Sherlock asked, a frown settling on his face as Mycroft came out of the kitchen.

"Eltham, what _are _you doing?" he asked, just now noticing the bats they had in their grips.

The oldest Holmes descendent was the first one moving as he circled around his dad. "Why aren't you blowing up?" Nesbit inquired.

"Blowing up? We're not robots, though Mycroft tends to act like one now and then."

"Yeah, you are!" Eltham said tensely. His curly hair head kept swiveling back and forth between the brothers' as if they would change any minute. "You guy's fight constantly so you don't blow up; it's the only explanation."

"He's right, _father_, so don't get any ideas," Nesbit added, swinging his bat in front of him as a warning.

Sherlock looked to Mycroft for an explanation, but saw that his brother was just as dumfounded.

"Oh, put that baseball bat down, Nesbit, before you hurt somebody," Sherlock teased as he swiftly took the weapon out of his son's hand.

"Hey! Give that back you fiend! Come on, Eltham. We must fight them."

"I think they're telling the truth, Nes." The little boy muttered quietly as he ran behind his father. "They haven't blown up yet and it's been two minutes. If they were robots, then don't you think they would've blown up by now?"

"What are you talking about?" Mycroft frowned, shaking his head." Care to tell me, Eltham?"

The little boy shyly glanced at his cousin who had been giving him the evil eyes the entire time, before sighing. "Nesbit and I thought you guys were robots."

"And why was that?"

"In this movie me and daddy watched last night, these two robots in this movie had to keep fighting or they'd blow up, kind of like you and uncle Sherlock."

"Oh," Mycroft muttered as he hugged Eltham." No, son, we're not robots. Sometimes, it's natural for brother's to fight, but we don't do it to hurt each other."

"I do," Sherlock said, hiding it with a cough.

"Anyways," Mycroft continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Whatever you hear, it's meant with love, okay?"

"Okay," Eltham sniffed as he hugged his father tighter.

"I grow bored of this confrontation, Mycroft. I'll text you if I find anything more on the case." Sherlock smiled at his nephew before turning on his heel towards the kitchen. "Come along, Nesbit. I have some chores for you to do to make up for your assault on me and Mycroft'; is that understood?"

"Yes, father," the blonde boy mumbled miserably.


	6. Phases

**_I know this chapter is really short, but it's meant to be that way. It's kind of just a little teasing thing between Mycroft and Greg. So, enjoy and please review:D_**

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Every single child in the world went through a phase; it was the natural part of growing up. Even the mighty Eltham Lestrade Holmes had his fair share of them, though the one he was going through that month was wearing thin on his parents as they packed his lunch that morning.

"This is outright hellish, Gregory." Mycroft muttered out loud as he rummaged through the fridge that seemed to be filled with bags among bags of broccoli; one of Eltham's phases.

"What can I say; he's got a weird mind, that kid. He won't eat anything that's not green and it must have leaves on it."

Mycroft raised a perfect eyebrow, frowning as he pulled out a green tomato.

"So, Eltham won't eat any meat? How's he going to grow thinking like that?"

Greg looked over at Mycroft for a second before he went back to his newspaper. "It's just a phase, love. I'm sure you went through them when you were his age."

"I did have my fair share of 'phases', but I assure you they were fairly normal."

"Fairly? So, what, did you spy on older women? Eat fish with peanut butter? Or go skinny dipping every Tuesday at the beach for a month?"

"No, not quite. I sometimes only wore jeans when I was supposed to wear slacks. It would aggravate mummy to no end, but Sherlock found it quite funny." Mycroft laughed, reminiscing in the past. "Though, you sound as if you're speaking from experience, Gregory? Care to explain?" The government official asked as he cut up the tomato.

"Just some of my many, many weird phases back then. I had so many I can't even remember. But you, Mycroft Holmes," Greg teased, smiling, "were one bad ass kid back then. I can't believe it; you wore jeans when told not to! I'm shocked that I'm married to an ex con." Greg proceeded to throw his hand dramatically to his forehead, as if in shock.

"Hey," Mycroft warned, shaking the knife in the air with a smile. "I have a knife and I know how to use it."

"Care to elaborate?" The DI winked. "And when do I get to make good on that?"

"Good on what?"

Greg proceeded to get up as he traced the 'kiss the cook' outline on the black apron Mycroft wore. "You _are_ cooking, right? So that makes you a cook."

"And a good one at that." The government official whispered as he leaned down to press a firm kiss to his husband's lips.


	7. Lost

**_To make up for the shortness of the last chapter, I've made this one a little longer than normal. It's got angst and drama, so beware! Other than that,enjoy_**

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Mycroft and Greg swore to each other, before they adopted, that they'd never lose their child in public or let them run away unannounced. And they made good on that promise right up until Eltham's first day of third grade.

In Greg's defense though, there had been a lot of scared little kids running around as he helped Eltham off the bus that evening. One minute, his little boy was clutching tight to his hand, and then the next, Eltham's hand was slipping out of his.

Call it a parent's intuition, or just maybe twenty years in the police business, but Greg knew that Eltham hadn't let go involuntarily.

"Eltham!" The DI's voice boomed, attracting the weary looks of other parents escorting their children home. When no response came, Greg began to panic considerably. He whipped around in a frenzy, calling the boy's name again, only to be met with more silence.

_Oh, God, _Greg thought as fear began to bubble up in his chest. He had never ever lost Eltham in public, nor in private. It was a stupid, and inexcusable mistake; one that Mycroft was surely going to yell at him about.

Summing up all his stamina, and disregarding the fact that he was almost fifty years old, Greg started running. It was a mediocre mistake, not staying put where they had been separated, but he was scared, his mind a jumbled mess screaming at him, and he didn't know what else to do in this type of situation.

Greg was almost certain he'd never run so fast in his entire life. He pushed aside shoppers and Londoners in his haste. They cursed at him like he was crazy… but it was all one big blur to him as he reached the corner of Halesborruow street. Stopping just shy of the cobbled road, Greg took a deep breath as he pulled out his mobile.

He clicked speed dial for the_ first_ number in his phone.

"Yes, Gregory?"

"Mycroft, I'm so, so sorry." Greg cried into the phone, knowing that it wouldn't make things better, but unable to stop.

"What is wrong? What happened?"

"I-I don't…know exactly." Greg stuttered as he ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I was walking home with Eltham and then…he- he let go of my hand."

"Greg," Mycroft said, defiantly angered. "Did you lose our son?"

"I didn't mean to." Greg answers quietly.

"I trusted you-"

"I know, I know, Mycroft!" Greg shouted. "But you can yell at me later, when Eltham's safe. I'll be home in a minute, and then we can go over your videos to see if we can find him."

Greg hung up without another word, silently praying to the Gods that Eltham could be found on Mycroft's security cameras. But when he finally arrived home, it seemed that luck wasn't upon the two parents.

Apparently, Mycroft had located Greg and Eltham getting off the bus rather easily. Feeling optimistic, the government official patiently awaited the separation scene, only to discover that a crowd pushing forward against his husband and son, had covered up what happened to Eltham indefinitely.

A couple of minutes later, Greg stepped into the video room. "I cannot believe that you lost our son, Gregory. He could be in danger out there!" Mycroft yelled, blowing up on his husband.

"Are you serious?! I get it, _Mycroft! _I'm a failure because I messed up one time." Greg sighed, blinking away unshed tears.

"It doesn't matter," Mycroft snapped, brushing away the hurt look of Greg by throwing his jacket on. "We'll simply have to go look for him."

Greg turned around after the younger man. "My, I'm-"

"Let's go," Mycroft bellowed, cutting the DI off.

* * *

Three hours later, and still no Eltham. There was no trace of the boy anywhere, and as Greg kept looking, it was like he hadn't been alive in the first place.

It was wearing thin on Greg's nerves as he re-searched the alleyways by the drop off. Everything and anything that was flying through his mind was only on finding Eltham; not how cold Mycroft was being nor that it was their first fight as a married couple.

Lifting a particularly old mattress up for about the thousandth time that night, Greg fished his phone out to see how Mycroft was fairing with the videos.

"How do you think I'm fairing, _Gregory?" _Mycroft snapped once again, as he answered.

"I don't know, I thought you found him."

"Don't you think if I had found him, you'd be the first to know? Greg, I'm not here to make you mad, quite frankly that's the least of my worries. He's as much your son as he is mine, so I know how you're feeling. But don't think that I'm making you suffer involuntarily, love. If I find him, I'll call, I promise."

Greg covered his face with his hand, muffling the aggravated scream that came out. "Okay, okay. I feel bloody awful that I let this happen, though. I'm a DI for God's sake! "

"And a very good one who made one mistake. But if we don't keep looking, Greg, I fear you'll never fix that mistake."

"Bloody hell, Mycroft. I think I know where he is," The DI whispered, tossing the phone to the ground as he began to step towards the deserted street.

_If Eltham is an orphan,_ Greg thought as he looked around for a bench, _then he is somewhere where no one is; to be alone._

It was only a hunch that gave Eltham's location away, but it was a life saver nonetheless_._

"Eltham?" Greg whispered, stepping towards the small shaking figure on the wooden bench.

The young boy whirled around, shivering and red faced as he looked back to see Greg standing behind him.

"Dad, is-is that y-you?" He asked, teeth chattering loudly.

"Yes, yes it is." Greg murmured as he opened his arms wide.

Without even blinking, Eltham got up and tore across the street right into Greg's arms, as the DI knelt down to catch him. "I-I was so sc-sca-scared! I thought you and father didn't want me anymore!"

"We would never _ever_ do that to you Eltham, do you hear me? We love you so, so much, son." Greg cooed gently, lifting Eltham into his arms and held him close. He hadn't been able to pick Eltham up like that in years, but surprisingly, the young boy latched on closely, hugging so tightly that Greg found it hard to breath.

"Yeah, but you l-le-let go of my hand today, daddy! Yo-you di-didn't want me any mo-more."

"God, no, Eltham." Greg said, frowning. "That was a huge mistake." He began, still rocking his son back and forth; holding him with ease, despite his weight. "I should've held your hand tighter, Eltham so you wouldn't get lost. But in no way did I do it intentionally. Neither your father nor I would ever do such a thing to you because you are the most precious thing in the whole world to us."

"More precious than sex." Eltham giggled into his dad's chest.

Greg stopped rocking a moment, but resumed it with a big smile; glad that his son was alright. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that from you, but yeah, you're more precious than sex."

"Good. Is father mad at me?"

"A little bit." Greg admitted. "But he'll get over it, you know why?"

"Why?" Eltham squeaked.

"Because you both are idiots, but you're my idiots." Mycroft murmured, as he stepped out of their car to come wrap his arms around his family.

"How did you find us, father?" Their son asked, doubtfully surprised.

"My cameras are useful in more than one way." The government smiled as he planted a kiss on Greg's lips.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier, Gregory."

"And I'm sorry for losing, Eltham, and your trust."

"You never did lose my trust, love." Mycroft whispered, leaning in for another kiss.


	8. Punishment

When it came to grades and such, Mycroft was usually lenient. He knew how tough it could be for Eltham with his smartness, especially in the third grade. But that didn't give him the right to abuse the free pass like he had been doing for the past week.

"This is an outrage! A monstrous calamity on my whole being! He will not go unpunished, I tell you." Mycroft yelled into an envelope that he had just picked up from the mailman.

"What did Sherlock do this time?" Lestrade moaned, half dragging himself into the kitchen as he adjusted his tie.

"It's not, Sherlock."

"Oh, really? Who, than, is this mysterious stranger that willingly mocks my husband, I dare ask."

"It's not like that, Gregory." Mycroft frowned. "It's our son, Eltham."

Greg took a deep breath as he poured his morning coffee. "Well, whatever you're yelling about, I'm sure it can't be that bad."

"But it _is_! Our son, the one we taught to be smart, and charming, has disrespected my orders yet again. I try and try to keep my composure, but it's slowly slipping, Greg. You can imagine how I'm feeling."

"No, I can't." Greg laughed. "He's nine, Mycroft. There are more important things on his mind that school and grades. I'm sure you can start hounding him when he's in high school."

Mycroft huffed and gave Greg the menacing look that usually froze people to the bone. "He may be nine, but in no way is he like the other children, Gregory; even you know that. He needs to start learning now that it's not okay to slack off in school. With that type of thinking, we'll surely have another Sherlock on our hands."

"You have a point, but you can't make him do something he doesn't want to do."

"We'll just have to find a way." Mycroft sang evilly as he rubbed his hands together in thought.

* * *

"When you said that you'd find a way, I thought it was going to involve snooping around and blackmailing him, not have a bloody family chat!" Greg whispered fiercely as he and Mycroft sat on the pristine love- seat against the wall of their mansion. Mycroft had come up with the idea that evening when they both arrived home from work. Luckily Eltham was still at a friend's house, so they had time to wait.

"I'm not a murderer, Gregory, nor a burglar! What exactly runs through that mind of yours?"

"A lot of wild, wild things." Greg muttered as the front door banged open.

Eltham, with his hair mussed up from swimming, stopped short when he noticed his father's. "Um, hey? What's going on?"

"We are having a proper family chat." Mycroft said in his smooth voice. "You may sit down now, Eltham."

"People still do this?" Eltham asked, taking a seat In front of his parents.

"That's what I said! But apparently they do." Greg murmured as Mycroft shot him a look.

"So, Eltham how was your sleepover?"

"It was fine." Eltham said, fidgeting under Mycroft's gaze.

"Good. That's good, isn't it?"

"Father, may I go now?"

"Have you somewhere to be, Eltham?' Mycroft asked, inspecting his nails.

When Eltham said nothing, Greg uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "We have reason to believe that you've been neglecting you studies. Would you like to explain?"

Eltham looked sheepishly at his dad. "School isn't challenging."

Mycroft scoffed, "Yes, but that is hardly an excuse. I work every day with mindless politicians and ambassadors, and yet, somehow I manage to keep my job."

"But fath-"

"Don't beg, Eltham. It's degrading and way beneath you. You'll simply have to be punished. "

"Mycroft's right." Greg agreed, placing a hand on his partner's thigh. "Eltham, you're grounded for the next week. And you will go to school and actually participate. I don't want to find out that you've disregarded our punishment, but if I do, you will be spending the whole week with Anderson."

Jumping half out of his seat, Eltham stared with wide eyes. "But that's not fair, dad! Anderson's creepy, plus Nesbit's got tickets for the football tournament tomorrow!"

"You should've thought of that before you slacked off."

Slowly, their son nodded.

Mycroft clapped his hands together as he stood up. "Well, that went well! I'm glad we could have this little chat. But I must be on my way; the Queen needs my assistance." As he passed Eltham, he nodded once to show that there were no hard feelings.

Greg stood slowly and walked over to his son; kneeling down so they were eye to eye.

"You know, we could always go to the football game for a couple of minutes. Technically, it's not breaking you're punishment." He whispered.

Eltham looked up at him. "…But you just said that I was grounded. And what if father finds out?"

"I won't tell if you won't."

Eltham smiled, "Deal."

The corner of Greg's mouth turned up into a small grin. He had always had a soft spot or children.


	9. Mistake

_**This little one shot will go back to when Eltham was one years old, for reference. Couldn't resist writing about Mycroft and his umbrella ^-^ Enjoy and please review to tell me how I'm doing:D**_

* * *

If you were to ask Mycroft Holmes of his mistakes, he'd simply dismiss you with a wave of his hand. He never made any as far as the eye could see, and he was true to his word. That is, until one evening a year after they adopted Eltham.

"Have you seen my umbrella, Gregory?" A flustered Mycroft asked as he stormed around the mansion's front room.

"Not recently, why? I thought that thing was a part of you; I was actually getting scared there for a moment."

"Very, funny." Mycroft deadpanned as he lifted up Greg's misplaced jacket. "I thought I left it in here when I got home, but I can't find it."

Greg stretched out on the couch as he watched his husband. "Did you look in the nursery room? You checked up on Eltham first thing through the door."

"You're quite right, Gregory! I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner!" A grateful Mycroft sang as he ran down to their son's room.

"That's because I'm smarter! "Greg called after Mycroft.

With a smug smile on his aging face, and a happy feeling in his heart, Greg crossed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes intending to get some sleep. Though, when you lived in a house with a Holmes, nothing ever went as planned. Having closed his eyes for all of about two minutes, Greg was shaken awake by a blood curdling scream that coursed through his entire body.

"Mycroft!" Greg yelled as he flung himself off the couch. Reaching into his waistband for his gun, the DI ran down the hall and threw Eltham's door open with ease.

"Hands on you head where I can see them!" He shouted into the half empty room.

When only two pairs of eyes focused back on him, Greg threw his hands to the side like a little kid. "Are you telling me I wasted a perfectly good hero glare on a bloody idiot wrestling with a one year old?"

"Not now, Greg!" Mycroft muttered as Eltham slobbered more on the umbrella. "You must help me. Go around Eltham quietly, so as not to startle him. When I say go, you will grab him and I'll get the umbrella, is that understood?" The government official barked, slightly out of breath.

"Don't talk about him like he's a monster, Mycroft." Greg exclaimed, shocked as he walked over to the two. "You need to learn how to get what you want when you want it."

"And I'm sure you're going to tell me." Mycroft muttered as he allowed Greg to push him aside.

"Watch and learn, my big idiot." Greg whispered.

Mycroft stood in the background with a look of disbelief as he watched his husband pull out his gun.

"What-what are you doing!" Mycroft shouted when Greg put the gun to Eltham's head.

"This." Greg murmured as he pretended to pull the trigger.

"Bam!" Eltham shouted with glee as he fell backwards in his crib in a fit of giggles, fully releasing the umbrella.

When Mycroft was sure his heart wasn't going to explode out of his chest any moment, he smacked the smiling DI on the side of the head.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"That was for giving me a damned heart attack! What if the safety wasn't on or, God help me, the gun had been loaded? What then Gregory? Everything we've ever worked for would've been ruined because you wanted to play around!"

"But it didn-"

"Well, what if it had!" Mycroft shouted into Greg's face.

"It was a water gun." Greg muttered, putting his best puppy face on.

"What?"

Considering the circumstances, Greg still found it in him to let out an explosive laugh, one that had him short of breath when he finally stopped. "It wasn't real, Mycroft. It was Eltham's water gun I found in the hallway. I would never do such a thing to him or you, ever."

Mycroft vowed to never make the mistake of losing his umbrella ever again after that incident, or forever be faced with the wrath of Greg Lestrade and his creative ideas the rest of his life.


	10. A Day at The Yard

Greg didn't mind brining Eltham to work with him when they couldn't arrange a babysitter; and the nine year old didn't have a problem with it. In fact, Eltham begged to go to work with his dad, and all but blew up with excitement when Greg said yes.

Though, none of his usual excitement could be seen as he rolled around on the ground of Greg's office that afternoon.

"Dad, I'm boooooooooored." Eltham moaned, extending the 'o' sound for pronunciation.

"Then why did you come in the first place?"

"Because I was bored at home, but now I'm bored here."

"That makes perfect sense." Greg chuckled as he shuffled through some important case files.

"Well, fix it!" Eltham yelled, as he kicked the ground. "You're a DI, so let's go blow stuff up."

Greg knitted his eyebrows together as he glanced at his delusional son. "You do realize that I'm a detective inspector, right?"

"And?"

"And that doesn't give me free reign to do as I please."

"Really? Your job sucks then."

"Welcome to my life, Eltham. If you're so bored, then why don' you go hang out with Anderson?"

Eltham paused kicking the ground as he flipped onto his stomach. He shot his dad an 'are you serious look' before he resumed the motion. "It's like you don't even listen to me dad. Yeah, because that's the first thing on my mind! Sitting around while Mr. Weirdo pokes dead bodies, thanks for the suggestion!" Eltham sang in a sarcastic voice.

Greg raised a silver brow. "It's either that or muck around the streets like a bloody homeless person."

"The last choice, please!"

"You know, I worry about you sometimes, and that great future your father is so determined on. Does he know about your homeless dreams?"

"Not yet," Eltham gleefully said as he got up. "But, I'm thinking I'll break it to him tonight over his favorite dinner."

"Only nine years old and you know how to make Mycroft bend; you're growing up so fast."

"I learned it from the best." Eltham winked. "I'm going to go 'play' with your coworkers, 'kay'?" Eltham asked.

Though, he didn't wait for an answer as he ran out of the room, nearly colliding with Dimmock as the other DI entered.

"Have you found any leads on that cold case yet?"

"Um, not quite, Lestrade." Dimmock murmured as he blushed, adverting his eyes as Greg looked him over.

"Oh, then what's up?"

"We heard yelling in here, and I wanted to see what it was about."

"Sally paid you five pounds, didn't she?" Greg guessed as he leaned back in his chair.

"And more desk space for a week. I'm actually happy about that seeing as how she's a sodding arse when it comes to personal space."

"Can't blame her, seeing as how you have a _mahogany _desk. You're the talk of the Yard every day, you know that?"

"Now I do, so thank you very much." Dimmock said sarcastically as he looked down at his feet.

Something was obviously bothering the guy, something that had to do with Greg. No way did the hard headed Dimmock ever look flustered of his own accord.

"Something else you'd like to mention?" The older man asked, crossing his arms.

Dimmock looked up sheepishly at his coworker. "How are you and Holmes?"

"Mycroft?" Greg asked incredulously.

"Yeah, that one."

"We're fine, brilliant in fact. Why?"

"Because he works in the government!" Dimmock let burst the words he'd held in for what seemed like forever. "They destroy anything in their path to get what they want, and I wouldn't be surprised if he married you to stop his boredom for a while."

Instead of saying anything at first, Greg put his elbows up on his desk and stared the younger man down. "So you come into my office to tell me my husband's a wanker? I take that very offensively, Dimmock, especially since he's been nothing but kind to you ever since you've met him. Mycroft is kind, gentle, caring, and bloody loyal to me and Eltham!" Greg was hardly aware of his voice growing with each word. "He would never do that to me and I'm pissed that you'd even think, christ Dimmock."

If Greg had brought a camera with him, he would have taken a photo of Dimmock's face in that moment just to make the arrogant sod feel as bad as he did.

"I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't me-mean to make you an-angry." The DI sputtered as he half tripped out of the office in his haste to get away from the wave of anger coming off of his senior DI.

"You'd better be, Dimmock!" Greg mockingly roared, laughing at the expense of his coworker.

"Nice job, Eltham." Greg smiled as his son walked in with a lollipop in his mouth and a mischievous smile upon his face.

"It wasn't too hard to get Dimmock to confess what he really felt. Just a couple of pounds and he went singing to my tune, so cough it up dad." His son smiled, holding his palm out expectantly.

"So, he really has feelings for me?" Greg asked as he got up to grab the cash in his jacket.

"Plain as day, dad. Father says that's why they call you the Silver Fox."


End file.
